so we’re back. after a brief hiatus it made sense that the first thing I wrote in ages was about the fact I haven’t written anything in ages.
The dusty pen comes once more into life.
too long have stories been hidden in ink.
has inspirations ghost returned once more.
is this merely a memory stirred up.
can tales so long forgotten rise again.
the dragon sleeps but one eye flickers now.
time ticks on but the hands are slowing down.
the page is empty but there’s promise there.
So shall the future be written in rhyme?
shal rhythm dictate it’s daily winding.
the dusty pen comes once more into life.
but for how long can the writer hold on?